


A Helping Hand

by awordnerd



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awordnerd/pseuds/awordnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick and Beetee have a conversation about the similarities between Annie and Wiress, and discover a few similarities between themselves, as well. Missing moment from Mockingjay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

Finnick made his way up to Special Weaponry with just a hint of a spring in his step. Apparently, Beetee had made him a new trident, and his excitement about seeing it was the first respite he’d had from his crushing despair in days. Of course, all the tridents in the world weren’t going to make him forget that Annie was being held in the Capitol, but maybe this one could at least serve as a small distraction. After all, he had seen Beetee do some phenomenal things with technology, both in and out of the arena.  
Upon arriving at the metal door labeled “Special Weaponry,” he paused. It didn’t seem like a room that one should just waltz on in to. So he raised his fist and knocked three times.  
“Come in,” came Beetee’s voice. Although Finnick couldn’t even see his face yet, he thought the District 3 victor sounded tired.  
Finnick entered and shut the door behind him. Special Weaponry was a heavily equipped and yet meticulously organized room. Weapons and gadgets that Finnick could never have even dreamed of hung from the walls and lined the shelves. Beetee sat in his wheelchair at the end of a very long, wooden table, a huge and shiny trident laying in front of him.  
“Wow,” Finnick said as he approached Beetee and ran his hand over the trident. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Beetee.”  
Beetee gave him a rather halfhearted smile. He did, indeed, look exhausted. “I still need to put the finishing touches on it, but it should be something when it’s done. It’ll be great for propos…make you look like a victor again.”  
Finnick nodded. A victor was about the last thing he wanted to look like, but he knew what Plutarch had planned for the propos. He and Katniss and all the others had to look as strong and threatening as they had in their Games. “Thank you, Beetee.”  
Beetee nodded back, but didn’t say anything more.  
A rather awkward silence hung between them for a moment. Finnick continued to inspect the trident, and Beetee seemed to be staring off into space, something that Finnick thought was rather unlike him.  
“Beetee, are you feeling alright?” Finnick asked cautiously. “You seem…tired.”  
“More tired than the rest of you, you mean?” Beetee replied with a wry smile.  
“Fair enough,” Finnick looked back down at the trident, trying to decide whether to lend voice to a thought he’d had for a while. The words came tumbling out of him before he had entirely made up his mind. “Beetee, listen…I’m sorry if this is…well, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m really sorry about what happened to Wiress.” He studied Beetee closely for a reaction.  
Beetee wasn’t a reactive person, but Finnick could see the flash of hurt that appeared in his eyes at the mention of Wiress. And suddenly, he could see the torrent of grief and longing that had been eating away at him mirrored in the eyes of his fellow victor, and he felt a connection to Beetee that he had never felt before.  
“Thank you, Finnick. I…appreciate that.” Beetee said quietly. “Forgive me…I understand you’re going through a bit of a rough patch yourself.”  
“To put it lightly, yeah…” Finnick sighed, trying to keep his face from betraying the emotions that had seized him once again. “Annie…well, she’s in the Capitol. With Johanna and Enobaria…and Peeta.”  
“I’m very sorry.” Beetee raised one hand to push his glasses up his nose, and Finnick noticed that it was shaking slightly.   
“Thanks,” Finnick whispered. He cleared his throat and felt a burning need to talk, just to relieve some of the pressure that seemed to be crushing his chest and making every breath difficult. “I worry about her. Everyone thinks she’s mad, but she’s not. Mad is the wrong word. She has…flashbacks sometimes, of the arena…it traumatized her. But she’s amazing. She’s…I don’t know what to do without her.” He rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Beetee, I know you have things to do. I didn’t mean to…” Finnick’s ability to string together coherent sentences seemed to have abandoned him.  
“No, it’s alright, Finnick.” Beetee replied gently. “I don’t mind. Listen…” he took a deep breath, and then continued. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through; I have more respect for you than that. But I can relate, at least in some ways. The Games did similar things to Wiress. She used to go for nights on end without sleeping…she would work on new inventions until the sun came up because it was the only way to keep the nightmares away. Do you know how her Games ended?”  
“No, I can’t say I do.” Finnick replied. There weren’t many things that he knew about Wiress, or Beetee, for that matter.  
“It was a fight between her and the last remaining tribute,” Beetee said. “Well…it was more self-defense on her part. She never did have a knack for combat. Anyway, I think everyone in Panem, including me, thought she was done for. The other tribute was a Career, the male from District 1. It was the longest few minutes of my life. It turned out that the boy got crushed by an avalanche, courtesy of the Gamemakers…Wiress was small and quick enough to move out of the way. She never got over the survivor’s guilt. Nightmares, flashbacks…there’s nothing worse than having to watch someone you love suffer and feel like you can’t help.”  
Finnick couldn’t seem to summon words that could accurately represent what he was feeling. He wanted to say something that would ease the pain that had to be eating at Beetee as much as it was eating at him, but the words simply didn’t exist. “I know that feeling,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “Annie’s Games ended with a flood. She won because she was the best swimmer. But before that, she had to watch her district partner be beheaded right in front of her, and…that haunted her. It still does. It kills me to see her in the kind of pain she’s in when she wakes up screaming at night…I wish there was something more I could do. Anything.” He buried his face in his hands, unable to go on.  
Beetee laid a hand on Finnick’s shoulder. “You do more for her than you think, Finnick,” he said. “Trust me. I know. She needs you, but you need her just as much, if not more. I know that too. It took a long time for both Wiress and I to realize that sometimes words just don’t cut it; sometimes all you need is to see someone next to you and know they’re not going to leave. The trust between you is more powerful than anything you could express with words.”  
Finnick, having slowly removed his face from his hands, just stared at the inventor from District 3, his fellow victor to whom he had never given a second glance before the Quarter Quell. While the gaping hole inside him hadn’t gotten any smaller, he felt that something else had been put at ease—a worry, perhaps, that he didn’t know he had. For just a few seconds, he allowed himself to feel hopeful.  
“Thank you, Beetee,” he said, looking the other man in the eye for what he realized was the first time.  
“Thank you as well, Finnick,” Beetee replied with a nod. “You should be going; I’m sure Plutarch is looking for you. Come back sometime tomorrow and this trident will be ready to go.”  
Finnick got to his feet and made his way toward the door. Just as he was about to leave the room, he heard Beetee’s voice behind him.  
“Finnick?”  
He turned around. “Yeah?”  
“Never doubt that it’s worth it in the end.” Beetee had pulled what appeared to be a photograph out of his pocket, and Finnick didn’t need to ask to know who was in it.  
Finnick allowed himself to crack a small grin for the first time in weeks. “That’s one thing I’ve never doubted for a second.”


End file.
